


Contest of Wills

by icarus_chained



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aftermath, Anger, Episode Related, Episode: s03e08 The Empath, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Promises, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: After safely stowing their doctor in Sickbay, despite protests, Jim and Spock deal with what happened with the Vians, and what may well happen again in future.





	Contest of Wills

**Author's Note:**

> This is primarily a random bit of something to try and get me back writing again. Focused on Spock & McCoy and their contest of sacrifice, and set after The Empath, because I'm entirely predictable when it comes to this fandom. Heh.

It was a petty, petty thing, but Jim couldn't deny that he took a certain degree of satisfaction in confining Bones to Sickbay for observation overnight after what the Vians had done to him. Well. _Arranging_ for Bones to be confined to Sickbay overnight, at least, but M'Benga seemed happy enough to go along with him. Miraculous alien healing was one thing, but he didn't think he was the only one who wanted the reassurance of a good, old-fashioned Starfleet biobed to make absolutely sure that Bones was no longer slowly succumbing to death by torture.

It was just common sense, really. Bones would have recommended it himself had it been anyone else under the Vians' thumb. It was just plain, simple precaution, that was all.

It was not, by any means, revenge for a well-timed hypospray. Of course not. Perish the thought.

He clasped his hands carefully behind his back, fixing his expression to mild amusement as he watched Bones fight a losing argument with a gleefully professional M'Benga. They weren't shaking. His hands. Steady as a rock, of course. He'd swear it before any court, in the Federation or outside of it. He managed to raise an innocent eyebrow as well, as Bones swung angrily towards him. He managed to make false innocence cover the petty amusement and the bone-deep, shaking horror both.

Well. The latter, at least. That was all that really needed covering, though. Bones could growl in betrayed aggravation at the former all he liked.

It wasn't long before Bones realised himself outvoted and outmatched. Jim watched him turn between them, his own pious innocence, M'Benga's glee, Christine's amusement, and Spock's ... Spock's extremely impassive and expressionless face ... and gradually slump in disgusted surrender. Disgusted, and perhaps secretly a little touched. Jim did catch that. He saw it, saw the faint glimmer of something frail in McCoy's eyes, something secretly glad to be on the losing end of a battle of concern. As he had been so grimly satisfied to have won the last one. Jim saw that. His hands spasmed behind his back. He straightened up and put on the most captainly face he could muster.

"Sorry, Bones," he said, with absolutely no remorse whatsoever. "You may be the CMO, but it looks like you're outvoted this time. M'Benga can set you up with my bed, if you like, since for once I'm not in it."

Something came through there. Some odd note. Bones winced, and smiled ruefully. "Not for lack of trying," he pointed out, and damned if he wasn't doing his best to be gentle. Damned if he didn't say it with wry compassion, as if he _hadn't_ been the one lying in pieces on a pallet less than a few hours before. Jim's knuckles protested at their sudden strain. Judging by the increased rigidity in Spock's face, they weren't the only ones.

"No," he agreed mildly. "Not for lack of trying. Next time I'm confiscating your hypos, you realise. I'll have to look up the rule book later, but I'm fairly sure drugging your superior officers unconscious to win an argument is considered cheating."

Bones' mouth twitched, one shoulder lifting in a wry shrug. "Ah well," he said, not at all sorry either. "I doubt it'd work a second time anyway."

Spock's eyebrows lifted coolly. "No," he said, interrupting at last with impressive impassivity. "I assure you, Doctor. It will not."

It was truly remarkable, Jim reflected, how very expressive a vulcan's blankness could be.

Bones faltered finally in the face of it. His smile dropped, and his arms too. Spock stared at him placidly, and Bones stared back, a silent contest with no real purpose or outcome. They were both too tired for it now. Jim could see Bones struggling to pull up some fire, some temper, something careless and smart to throw in the face of Spock's adamancy. He couldn't manage it. Everything about Spock right now was hard and stern and brooked no argument, and Bones just hadn't the strength right now to challenge him. 

Not that he needed to. He'd already won what he needed to win today, decisively enough that no possible rejoinder could equal it.

Not that they didn't want to try.

Spock's jaw twitched. He loosened himself from his stance deliberately, and inclined his head towards the doctor. "You will stay here, Doctor McCoy," he said, and it was flat and smooth enough that McCoy barely even bristled. "As you have often said yourself, it is better to be safe than sorry. We will discuss this further in the morning."

Bones rallied slightly. "Is that right?" he asked, with only the faintest edge of a sneer. Spock simply lifted his chin and stared him down.

"Yes," he said, very flatly, and turned on his heel and left.

It was ... abrupt, Jim admitted. Bones wasn't the only one left staring after the vulcan, though Chris and M'Benga were more startled than confused and faintly angry. Jim was neither. The only thing he felt for Spock right now was sympathy.

Bones was frowning, he saw, turning back to his friend. To the man he'd almost lost. Bones was tired and angry and upset. He was sagging gently. The Vians may have healed the physical damage they'd done, or presumably so, but the other wounds would take just a bit longer to wipe away. Bones had been tortured. He'd sacrificed himself for them, and allowed himself to be tortured to death. For them and for a woman he'd barely met, out of nothing but sheer stubborn determination that no one would be hurt while he could help it. It was ... It was a sentiment Jim understood. Oh yes. It was one he echoed.

But it would be a while, he thought, before it would be one that either Spock or himself could forgive.

He crossed the room. Reached out to rest a hand, very gently, on McCoy's arm. The doctor looked up at him, something tired and shaking in his eyes, and Jim's heart clenched. He curled the man's sleeve in his fingers.

"Go lie down, Bones," he said, proud that it didn't shake. "I'll talk to Spock. Don't worry. Go lie down and give your staff something useful to do for the evening, hmm?"

Bones closed his eyes. His knees softened, his head dipped down onto his chest, and Jim had pulled him all the way in before he'd thought about it. He'd wrapped his arms around him and cupped one hand fiercely at his nape before he could fall. His own eyes closed, his jaw so tight he could hear his teeth grind.

"I'm not sorry, Jim," Bones whispered, tired and flat. "Not for any of it. You can tell him that. I did what needed doing, and I'm not sorry for it."

Jim loosened his jaw before his teeth actually cracked. His arms still spasmed, enough that McCoy huffed out a darkly amused breath, but he managed to control himself enough not to do either Bones or himself damage. He was proud of that. He thought he deserved some credit for it. By the expression on Bones' face, a sort of tired, amused acknowledgement, maybe the doctor did too.

"Go on then," he said, pulling back out of Jim's arms and letting Chris gently tug him away. "Go talk to our Mr. Spock then, Jim. Give him someone to rant at for a bit. Vulcan or not, I don't doubt he needs it right now."

Jim managed a twitch of his lips for a smile. "I'm raiding your stash," he said. "One of the good bottles. I think this calls for something impressive, don't you?"

Bones smiled lopsidedly too. "Raid away," he said. "Raid away."

Jim stopped for a minute in the corridor as the Sickbay door closed behind him. He stopped and let his head tip back, his eyes falling closed once again. There was a shaking sensation in his chest, a strange, hollow emptiness. He remembered the hiss of the hypospray, the liquid sensation spreading out from his shoulder. Hollowness, emptiness. He remembered Bones trying to comfort Spock as he lay dying, the wry, warm words coming out from battered lips. Spock's face. Impassive. Blank. For one moment, he let himself remember it. Let himself _feel_ it.

Then he opened his eyes, and went to get some liquid fire to fill the hollowness up.

Spock was waiting for him in his quarters. Jim was glad of that. He'd been hoping for it. You couldn't always tell which way Spock would lean when he was well and truly upset, whether he'd let himself go to someone or secrete himself away. Bones had had the right of it, though. What Spock needed right now more than anything was to rant at someone. Jim knew that feeling too. What he needed was something he could fight, something he could rail against. The Vians had been too powerful. McCoy had been too tired. But Jim, right now ... Jim could go all night.

"... I should not have turned my back on him," the vulcan said softly, when Jim handed him a glass. "He had already taken you. I should not have presumed he would balk at me."

Jim snorted softly. "No," he agreed, chinking their glasses gently together. "He doesn't balk at much, once he's made up his mind. You probably should have seen that coming."

It wasn't an accusation, mind. Couldn't be. They'd made the same mistake, after all. There was no one in the whole Alpha Quadrant who could outstubborn one Dr. Leonard H. McCoy when he'd set his mind on something, and the bastard was one whole lot sneakier than you might expect as well. Hyposprays to the back. Oh, they should have seen that coming. The both of them. They should have seen it coming.

Though he did suspect that Spock _had_. At least as it applied to him. He rather suspected that Spock had been neither surprised nor unhappy when Bones had hypo'd _him_. It was only when McCoy had turned his weapon on _Spock_ that his science officer had finally gotten upset.

Hypocrisy, thy name is vulcan. Though Jim couldn't entirely blame him for it either.

Spock's hand curled tight around his glass. "It is too much," he said, his voice compressed around his anger. "He has a persistent tendency to self-injury. It is too much."

Jim winced, and took a gulp, swallowing harshly around the burn. "Pretty sure it was the Vians that injured him," he said roughly. "Not himself. He didn't hurt himself."

Spock's fingers trembled. His arm tensed, as though to throw. He had all the control of his heritage, though. Not a drop slopped over the edge. He closed his eyes and brought the glass to his lips instead. Spock didn't tend to drink, as a rule. It didn't do him much good. He wasn't really drinking now either, though. It was just a motion to carry him through the surge in his much-denied emotions.

"I should not have allowed it," he rasped finally. Ripe with self-reproach. "I should have anticipated him. I should have prevented it."

Jim laughed jaggedly. "You can't win all of them, Spock," he said. That odd note back in his voice again. A thread of his own issues rising up. Spock wasn't the only one who'd watched this too many times. "You've been fighting this fight for a long time, the two of you. Which one can jump in front of the phaser fastest. You've won more than once. But there's always going to be times when he's faster, or just more stubborn than you."

It was them. Always them. The captain was too valuable to sacrifice. They had the nerve and the expertise, and the _willingness_. Or the desperation. McCoy on Miri's planet. Spock with the amoeba. They had been fighting this fight for a long time, with him ever helpless to prevent it.

He wondered what it said about him that he was ... almost grateful for what Bones had done. To him. He wondered what it said that he'd been grateful that Bones had taken the choice so firmly out of his hands, before he'd been forced to choose between them once again.

Not that he'd really expected Bones to take it quite _that_ firmly. He'd known the man was a dab hand with a hypospray before, he'd seen it in previous tight corners like that other universe's Enterprise, but for the doctor to take _them_ ...

There was a thought, actually. There was an interesting notion.

"What was he like?" he asked absently, much to Spock's bewilderment. Jim grinned crookedly. "That other McCoy. The one from the other universe. What was he like?"

Spock blinked at him. On the bright side, the jump in topic had knocked him out of his temper and despair a little bit. That was good. That was a thing to be proud of too. It took the vulcan a long second to shake himself and tentatively follow the thread of the conversation.

"I'm not certain of the relevance, captain," he said slowly. "However, he was ... Cold. Cruel. Also patient. He did not speak much. I believe, in hindsight, that he was content to allow your counterpart to draw all attention and ire. He and Lieutenant Uhura's counterpart. They remained in the background, and allowed their captain and chief engineer to make demands instead."

That was ... well. Jim shook his head, sitting down slowly on his bed. That was interesting, wasn't it? Cold and cruel. The opposite of their Bones. But patient. Content to wait for the right moment. They might have thought that the opposite too.

"It just occurred to me," he said, almost absently. Smiling softly to himself. "Taking out both his commanding officers in quick succession. Knocking them both out for their own good, and taking all decisions in his own hands. Your counterpart, you know, that other Spock, he thought his doctor was weak. Easily persuaded. It occurs to me that even ours might do better than he'd have expected over there."

Not that they'd let him. To the extent that they'd ever _let_ Bones do anything. It would have killed him sooner or later, and inside faster than out. But he might not have done so badly over there. He might have done a lot better than anyone expected for a while.

A muscle moved in Spock's jaw. Drawing the eye. Jim looked up at him, watched the expression on his face. Such an expressive blankness. For all his efforts, Spock's impassiveness had never hidden very much at all.

"If my counterpart truly thought that," he said at last, in a soft, flat voice, "then my counterpart was a fool. A complete ... A complete fool. The doctor is not weak. Fragile, yes. Easily damaged. But never _weak_."

... No. Not weak. Never that. Stubborn as the day was long, and never weak for a second. Spock would win a lot more often if he was. Even that other Spock had discovered that. Alive only because McCoy was willing to risk his life to see it so. He'd learned, at least a little bit. And they'd learned too. A lot more often.

"... You couldn't have stopped him, Spock," he said quietly. "He isn't sorry. He said to tell you that. We're alive, and we're not hurt, and he isn't sorry at all. You can't blame yourself. You can beat him on sheer force of logic, but sometimes he's just going to be faster and sneakier than you are. You won't be able to stop him every time."

Spock considered that. Long and slow and thoughtful. Jim watched him. This man, this beloved friend. One of two, the both of them bound and determined to sacrifice themselves first and fastest. Neither of whom he could bear to lose. One of them was going to win one of these days. One of them was going to pre-empt the other as spectacularly as Bones had almost just managed, and there was going to be nothing he could do to stop it.

But he swore, right here and now, that he was going to _try_ , and whichever of them it was would go through every possible obstacle he could put in the way.

Spock sat down. Beside him, slowly and carefully. His arm was warm and strong alongside Jim's. His expression, when Jim looked at him, wasn't angry any longer. It wasn't hard and tight over rage and pain. It was calm instead. Nearly serene. He turned his head to Jim, his eyes soft and calm. As patient and stubborn as the day was long.

"Perhaps," he said quietly. "Perhaps he has outmatched me this time. I must concede that. The doctor would do well to remember, however." He smiled faintly, a wry lift of his lip. "He would do well to remember that vulcans are not without speed and subterfuge of their own. When circumstances demand."

Remorseless. Not sorry at all. Jim felt his heart clench gently in his chest. He felt his smile wobble on his face, and widen helplessly. One of them was going to win this fight, weren't they. One of them was going to take the choice from anyone's hands.

"I'm sure he will, Mr. Spock," he said, raising his glass once more to chink it gently against his first officer's. "I hope you don't mind, though, if I hope he never has to be reminded."

Jim could be stubborn too. As stubborn as anyone. If they were bound and determined to jump on the mine before anyone else, then he'd just have to be bound and determined to stop them. He was in command, after all. That had to be good for _something_.

How hard could it be to keep two idiots from killing themselves?

Spock's lip quirked. Wry compassion, as though he'd never been the one lying in pieces on a pallet. "I don't mind, captain. You may hope all you like, and I will even join you. If hope should fall through, however, I am sure both the doctor and myself will acquit ourselves to the very best of our abilities. Perhaps, if we are lucky, even enough to prevent the thing altogether."

And, well, Jim could drink to _that_ , couldn't he?


End file.
